


Don't You Fucking Forget That

by haiwannadie_89



Category: South Park
Genre: Boys Kissing, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 01:04:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16629932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haiwannadie_89/pseuds/haiwannadie_89
Summary: Kyle yearns to leave South Park, and Stan tries to get what Kyle needs.





	Don't You Fucking Forget That

**Author's Note:**

> This was partly inspired by me listening to "Check Yes, Juliet" by We The Kings. I've always found the dynamic between Stan and Kyle to be interesting so, yeah.
> 
> EDIT 1/12: I re-wrote some aspects to make certain parts more comprehensible, because I realised they didn't quite make sense. They're not game changing or anything, just thought it allowed for things to flow better.

Stan just really couldn’t fucking sleep right now.

Not that that was a real big surprise. Stan had found it increasingly harder for him to fall asleep ever since the first time his parents divorced and he had been falsely diagnosed with Asperger’s when, in actual fact, he should have been diagnosed with alcoholism and a serious case of nihilism bordering on depression. The fear of falling asleep and not being able to wake up, coupled with the fact that South Park was unbearably cold during the winter months, led him to his current situation. That is, unhooking the lock to his Super Best Friend’s room at ungodly hours in the morning.

He and Kyle have been secretly sneaking into each other’s room at night ever since they first learned how to properly walk. He didn’t know exactly when they made the conscious decision to do so but Stan supposed, like everything that happened between them, they just knew when to do it. Stan secretly thinks that he and Kyle have some sort of special connection, a special way of communicating without words, just, knowing when they need the other for comfort. He likes to think that whatever space they occupy together, it was their own little secret, somewhere exclusive to only them, where they could share their darkest times together with no judgement.

They did not need much of a reason for meeting, if they wanted to see each other, they would go see each other. There were only a few times where they had needed to hold each other close to stop the other from crying. Like when Stan thought he had lost Sparky forever. He remembered that day, Kyle had invited him to bed and wrapped the two of them tight with his quilt while he did his best to comfort a lifeless Stan by coming up with solutions to get Sparky back. He had been surrounded by Kyle’s warmth, Kyle’s voice – everything – and that somehow made everything seem better.  

Hearing the sound of Kyle’s voice always managed to calm him down, which might have sounded weird to most people. Kyle’s voice wasn’t as horrible as say, late Mrs. Crabtree’s grating, rough yelling. Nor was it as screechy and squeaky as Tweek’s, who could have been mistaken as a girl’s, but Kyle’s was far from what many would have called angelic. The pitch of Kyle’s voice was higher than most boys their age, and the way he spoke always had an air of condescension about it. Like he thought he was smarter and better than everyone, that he had the solution to everything if only they would _listen_. In many ways, Kyle was a master of grandiloquence, which annoyed Stan sometimes, too.

Regardless, Stan loved listening to Kyle’s voice, especially when he was speaking about the most inane of things. Like fighting over what the best Guitar Hero song was, or when they were whispering secrets to each other under their blankets – those were the best. To him, it was like listening to some masterful piece of music, or watching Shakespeare – which Stan admits, is a little gay of him to think. Stan did like how his voice would crack and rise when he was yelling, liked how he only spoke in condescension because, yeah, he _was_ right, most of the time. For someone whose life was kind of fucked up and who was extremely bad at barely keeping everything together, having someone like Kyle in his life was kind of a godsend. Also, he was Kyle, and that had always been enough for Stan.

Getting back to the matter at hand, Stan managed to prop open the window for long enough to be able to climb into the room without making a sound, lest he wake the rest of the Broflovski household. God knows he did not want to deal with Kyle’s mom yelling at three in the morning, when she would be bound to wake the rest of the neighbourhood in the process.

As he carefully closed the window shut, he heard Kyle stir in his sleep.

“Mhm, Stan?” Kyle whisper-hummed. “Dude, what happened? What time is it?” Stan felt a weird but not uncommon tightening in his chest when Kyle inquired about his wellbeing first. It made Stan feel like he was the most important person in the world, if not that then Kyle’s world.

“Three. And nah, nothing happened dude, it’s just, I can’t really sleep right now. One of those nights again, you know?” He replied back sheepishly. Looking at Kyle like that, all bunched up in his argyle pajamas, tired eyes staring at him in concern, it was just overwhelming right now.

“God do I ever know. Dude, here, come lie down.”

He shifted his old Terrence and Phillip themed pillows and bedsheets around to make room for Stan on his usual side of the bed, having done this a thousand times before – he was basically an expert in arranging beds to maximize Stan’s comfort – and pat the spot next to it.

Stan didn’t waste any more time in jumping in next to Kyle. Once he was settled in, he reached across and pulled Kyle right up to his chest, so that they were facing each other, and left his arm to rest around Kyle’s torso. For a while, they just stayed like that, tangled with each other and appreciating the other’s presence.

Kyle stared idly as Stan picked at a loose thread from Kyle’s Terrence pillow. The casing was old and well-used to the point where it was worn down. One of Terrence’s beady eyes had almost faded completely, the red of the pillow taking its place, making the whole thing look rather creepy, but Stan found it comforting. These were their favourite sheets. When the rest of the kids grew out of Terrence and Phillip after they hit eighth grade, Stan and Kyle were still playing reruns at sleepovers, laughing and farting along to the scenes. The two of them could still recite the entirety of Asses Of Fire, word for word, song by song.

“You know, it’s weird.” Kyle mutters after Stan finally pulled out the stray thread.  

“What is?”

“Just, I was having a terrible dream just now. It was like, I was stuck in something, mud probably, and I just couldn’t get out. Like, something was pulling me down in, it was suffocating. And I looked around me for help and there was everyone; my parents, Kenny, Cartman, whatever you can think of, I think even Mr. Hanky was there. But, everyone was just eerie and silent, even _Cartman_ wasn’t laughing or making fun of me. It felt like they were waiting for me to go under, to – succumb – to whatever was under there. And right before I was swallowed up by the whole thing, barely breathing, you woke me up.”      

“Oh.”

“Oh.” Kyle mocked, smirking. “Is that all you’re gonna say?”

“Well, I mean, what do you want me to say? I think, I like that – like, that I was the one who saved you, not the other stuff. But, wait, there wasn’t like, a creepy Stan staring at you too?” 

“Actually, no. You weren’t there in the crowd, I know, I was looking. And that made me glad. I don’t ever want to see you like that, ever.”

“Me neither dude. As in, I never want to see you go under, like that too. I refuse to think about that.”

Kyle made a weird noise somewhere between a sigh and a moan. He scooted closer to Stan on the bed, who responded by wrapping his arms more tightly around him, his other hair reaching up to tug at Kyle’s curls. Usually, Kyle hated it when people fiddled with his hair, saying that it made him look even more like a clown, Stan had been the only one Kyle trusted enough to see Kyle without his ushanka back when they were younger, and is now the only person who was given express permission to run their hands through it.

“Hey… you don’t think that we’ll end up like our parents, do you?” Kyle continued.

“Jesus, I hope not.”

“I just. I don’t want to be trapped by this town, you know? I feel like if I stay here longer I won’t be able to survive it, this place is like a parasite that feeds on the goodwill and intelligence of people, and once we reach adulthood we’ll be as stupid as any other South Park adult.”

Stan shudders at the thought of becoming like his father, who had, at one point, seemed reasonable and sane.

“Ugh, what are we saying. All this has made me scared to go asleep again. I feel like if I do I’ll wake up to whatever was on the other side of the mud I was sinking into.”

Kyle shrugged off Stan’s arm then and got out of bed. He was slightly hurt by that, because he wanted to bring Kyle closer to him and tell him that _dude, you won’t go under, because I won’t allow it. I’m going to be in that dream too, and I’ll do whatever I can to pull you out._

Kyle had walked to his closet and shuffled around, trying to look through the darkness for something.

“What are you looking for?”

“I just, I can’t fall asleep, it feels like I’m sinking.” As he said that, he finally retracted his hand from where it was rummaging through and procured a flashlight. It was an old, cartoony one, bright yellow with a sloppily drawn smiley face and _‘Kyle’_ written on. He tested the switch to see if the batteries were working, and the flashlight flickered weakly before it produced a stable but dim beam of light. “If I stay in bed any longer I’ll seep through, or something. No, I want to go out. Is that okay?”

Stan didn’t hesitate. “Of course. Let’s go.”

They escaped through Kyle’s window again, and made sure that it was closed shut when they left. At first, they made a slow trudge away from Kyle’s house, afraid that they’d wake up someone and would have to face Sheila’s wrath. But then, both of them had started walking faster, and faster, until they couldn’t stop sprinting. Stan didn’t know who started running first, maybe they both did. They always had that sort of instinct with each other, in sync.

Soon, Kyle's house was just a speck in the distance, and it seemed epochs away. Like a different time, far away in he past. They didn't know whose direction they were following, but before they knew it they had somehow managed to run all the way to Stark's Pond. An impressive feat, since they did not stop or slow down to catch their breath even once. There, they dropped to the ground, laughing and wheezing on the soft snow.

“Dude – that – was so awesome! It felt – like – running away from home, from – South Park.” Kyle says, panting. He had fallen back first into the snow, creating an imprint that would likely be gone by morning.

“Yeah – it was, it was like, we’re finally leaving this shithole. We’re free, dude!”

Kyle laughed harder at that. Stan arranged himself next to him, creating another depression in the snow. They had both settled into a comfortable silence which was broken only by the subtle breathing from each other, still smiling. 

“Do you think we’ll ever really be able to leave, though? I mean, my credit is all, it’s fucked, Stan. I’ll never make enough money to even leave South Park, much less Colorado. Oh fuck, what if I end up living with my mom and dad my whole life, having to work as a preschool teacher or something. Oh – god, what if I end up as Mr. Garrison Two, I don’t think I’ll be able to take that.”

“Dude, no. We will, we can leave everything behind and go, together. I’ll make sure you’ll never be a Garrison.”

Kyle groans loudly and rubs his face with his hands.

"You know I always had that fear. Mr. Garrison and I, it's kinda scary how much I see we have in common. Dude! Remember the metrosexual craze? He and I were the only two who weren't on board with that, we even - we even had the same objective to murder them! How fucked up is that?"

"What, shut up. Argh, now you've put that image in my head, gross. Dude, you're way,  _way_ better than Mr. Garrison ever is or was, ok. Jesus that's still terrifying, you're not going to get a sex change anytime soon, are you?" Stan asked, teasingly. Kyle punched him lightly in response.

“I just, I just feel like I’ve spent more than a hundred years in this town, you know? This place ages me. Stan… I feel like I’m going to go insane if I stay here any longer. It’s like ‘wow I already hate being here, how nice would it be if it felt like time dragged on forever’ you know?”

“I know, dude.”

“Do you though? Or are you just telling me what you want to hear?” Kyle says while sitting up. He looked down at Stan coldly, with narrowed eyes. What was with that anyway? Why did Kyle always manage to switch from hot to cold so easily? 

“What the, Kyle, what do you mean?”

“I _mean_ ,” Oh, oh god he was speaking in _that_ tone again. Like Stan was a particularly stupid three-year-old and he needed to enunciate every syllable slowly to get the message across. “Do you understand what it’s like to suffer the wrath of this entire town against you? And don’t say that you do, because sometimes, sometimes you go along with it too! Like, like that time you made me drink pee!”

“Wha – I never made you drink pee!” Stan had sat up too, making himself as tall as possible while still sitting. He was always taller than Kyle by an inch or two.

“Yes, you did! At the water park, and okay, maybe you didn’t _force_ me to do it, but you didn’t protest it either! You – you didn’t fight for me, you weren’t on my side.”

“Dude, it was, we thought we were going to die and it seemed like the best option – the only option, ok? You think I wanted to watch you drink that?” In the midst of their yelling, he had grabbed one of Kyle's wrists and they tumbled through the snow together.

“But that’s just the thing, isn’t it! The best options here are the ones where I get royally fucked! I don’t think you understand, you can’t possibly comprehend this, all this pain I get from this town. All the trauma, it’s like, a physical tumor, filled with pee! But for everyone else it’s: _‘Oh, just your average day in this wacky town, hur hur’_. You never had to endure through having your ass surgically attached to someone’s mouth. It makes you different, okay, it forces you to think about things, deeply.” Kyle’s voice was growing louder and screechy and he had flailed his hands around dramatically in an attempt to break out of Stan's hold as he said this. It only made Stan hold on tighter.

“You don’t think that I have been affected too? Or are my – problems not terrible enough as yours. Is that it?”

“No! I – no," he stopped moving around. "We shouldn’t, let’s just stop. Human suffering can’t be measured like that. God, look at us, we’re a mess because of this place.”

“Dude, we should just go somewhere like, I don’t know, Japan. It’s like, peaceful and quiet, nothing like this hellhole. America is like, Insanity Capital.”

“Ugh, god no. Remember all that shit with them killing all the whales and dolphins? You of all people should, dude. Anyway, those people are just as fucking insane as the rest of us.”

Kyle then continued to rant about the political corruption and cost of living in Japan, Stan's hand never letting go of his wrist the whole time. Any other person listening in might have thought Kyle sounded like a crazy xenophobe, or something, but Stan managed to catch that quiver of insecurity in his voice. Only Stan could catch the sheer desperateness that Kyle possessed to just find someplace _normal_ , where he could actually enjoy his life without living anticipating the next fucked up thing that could happen. South Park had left its permanent mark on every generation that had the misfortune to live in it, and it always seemed that the trauma affected Kyle more than anyone else. 

Kyle was simply done with life, with South Park, and Stan wishes he could take away that pain from him, to be the one who whisked Kyle away from its horrors, rescue him. He just wanted to make Kyle happy.

“–besides, that place doesn’t even allow people of the same sex to get married you know and–“ Kyle paused abruptly when he realised what he had just indirectly admitted. His eyes were so wide that, in any other situation, Stan would have poked fun at it.

“Wait, you, you’re gay?” Ouch, he hadn’t meant to say it like an accusation.

Kyle snatched his wrist from Stan's hold, leaving his hand vulnerable to the biting cold around them, and crossed his arms tightly against his chest, one of his famous defensive traits. “So what if I am, Stan? Are you going to stop being my best friend. I mean, I know you basically put up with me now –“

“What! Dude, no. What's with you all of a sudden? Ok, first of all, I have a gay dog, what the fuck do I care. Second, what do you mean by I put up with you, I don’t – where did you even get that idea from. Dude you’re still my best friend! I thought you always knew.”

Stan did not know that, actually. He always thought that they could communicate telepathically, that whatever issues they had they would speak in their own, Stan and Kyle language. But maybe over time, they had both gotten complacent in that understanding and forgotten the meaning behind each word.

“Dude I, I didn’t know.” Stan finished lamely.

Midway through their argument, Stan had tried to reclaim possession over Kyle's right hand, and the two had started wrestling each other. Somehow, Stan had ended up above Kyle, pinning both his wrists to the ground, their snow angels, if they could even be registered as that anymore, were mixed together by the commotion and everything else going on, looking like a chaotic, thrashing had taken place. 

“Yeah? Well now you do.” Kyle was on the verge of tears by then, his voice wobbly. He turned his face away from Stan’s.

Stan stared at him, eyebrows creased in the way that made him want to bring a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Listen, I love you no matter what okay? So, you can be gay, be a dolphin, become another stupid entity of this town – whatever, I’ll still love you." 

Stan took a deep breath, choosing to focus on Kyle’s curls, which had been revealed during their tussle, when Kyle’s ushanka had slipped off slightly, leaning towards the right side of his face.

“Look at me, dude.”

Kyle shook his head firmly, determined to be stubborn in this.

One of Stan’s eyebrows twitched and he rolled his eyes. “Fine then.”

Kyle was then surprised when Stan forcefully jerked his pinned arms together over his head and even more so when he managed to pin both of them with just a single hand. They were both always relatively equal in terms of strength but over the years Stan had gained more muscle. He was still skinny, but his arms had filled out. But Kyle thinks that Stan had always been that way: Soft, but strong. 

His face was then grabbed and turned to face him. Stan’s eyes held a steely resolve in it, like he was bearing his soul open to Kyle, and all the unsaid things between them could finally be heard.

“I’m like, ok, put up with this.” Stan gulped down his shame. “I’m like your hero. I’ll save you from anything, from anyone, I’ve always done that! If you needed a kidney, I’d get you a kidney, I’ll make up more stupid songs to make sure you know that you mean everything to me, so that I can keep you by my side forever. I don’t care if I have to punch every Japanese person who looks at you funny or spend all my money trying to get us two tickets to the other end of the universe, so long as you’re safe and happy, I’ll do it for you, dude, I promise. _So don’t you fucking forget that_.”

Snow had started falling by then, they were both breathing heavily, white puffs of breath mingling with each other. Despite that, they could see the other clearly.

“Hah, was that a proposal Stan?” Kyle says with a quivering voice. Then his jaw set. 

He surged upwards, pressing a pair of trembling lips against Stan’s. He was hesitant and unsure, which reminded Stan of his first kiss with Wendy. But Kyle’s lips were softer and thinner, and it fit better than Stan had thought it would. After what seemed like forever, Kyle broke away first, and Stan was left yearning for more.

“Sorr-“

“Don’t, apologise. Kyle I, I liked it.”

And he leaned down again, this time pressing down harder, until his whole body was flush against Kyle. He decided to be more adventurous and pushed his tongue against Kyle’s smooth lips. He tried this with Wendy before, she bit his tongue. Kyle, however, opened his mouth, granting Stan access to explore. They were both red and panting by the end of everything. Stan propped himself up by his knees and stared down, admiring his handiwork. Kyle’s arms were still pinned over his head and his eyes were hazy and glazed, but still staring straight at Stan, his entire face nearly the same shade of red as his hair.

“You better make good on that promise, dude." 

Stan swears he will.

 

…

 

Twenty years later, at thirty-six, both Stan and Kyle are far, far away from South Park. They hadn’t quite managed to get out of the clutches of America, however, but they were residing happily in Orlando, mostly because Kyle always had a weird obsession with Disney. An obsession which he seems desperate to get Rina and Roy to develop the same love for, but to no avail. They were both quite cynical, like Stan, and kept complaining about how Disney movies were trite and unrealistic, and that Disney as a company in general, was overrated. 

Kyle and Rina are in their usual debate about whether Disney monopolising everything does more harm than good to children’s entertainment while they’re watching Snow White for the umpteenth time – Kyle’s favourite – as Roy sneakily finishes the bowl of popcorn. Stan watches as the prince carries Snow White away, dancing happily as they do so, he settles her on his horse and whisks her somewhere far away from the old, malicious castle.

 

Stan thinks he’s made good on that promise.


End file.
